Storm-basker

I hear the world’s growl
and at the first deep rumble
take my place in the window
to revel in the rage of sky gods.

Born in a morning storm
and hundreds of heatwaves hence,
I watch as that slate blankness
erases the sky as warning
to us, an unbearable burden,
and the world pours purity
to cleanse our sins from its surface.
White wildflowers bloom
to cover our stains,
painting traces of manmade
in darker shades more akin to
their nature.

Light cracks life,
splits the night.
White static drowns our sound,
swallowing the humidity of humanity

and I watch this purge
knowing if I were to step outside
I too would be washed away.

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